Red Ledger
by Captain19
Summary: As one of the best the Red Room had to offer she knew she had to get out when the chance presented itself. She never wanted the life forced on her. Then faces she never thought she would see again resurface. She learns she's not the only one who had everything taken away. When a debt is called she risks her cover and her life to return. Afterall, who says no to Black Widow?
1. Prologue

I was seven years old when life's cruelest joke was played on me. I look back at the naive innocence I possessed in my childhood never imaging how quickly it would be stolen. Back then I never had to worry where my next meal would come from or if the people I encountered had ulterior motives. No, my concerns revolved around my next recital or the extra practice time I was allotted because of my fathers' money. Sasha Kozlov was a very powerful man that held influence in just about every room he entered, even I recognized that with the private tutors and instructors that were provided for me. Papa dedicated his life to the military after mama passed away and while he gained the favor of the President, he lost his family along the way.

As an only child, I was used to my parent's full attention, especially when it came to them watching me dance. There was never a production they missed, a practice they did not attend or a recital without a bouquet of flowers waiting backstage. That all changed after the crash. It was a late September afternoon and my mama was walking me home from practice just as she did every other day of the week. I remember being upset that she was rushing me when I wanted to speak to her about my new role in the Moscow theatre company's production of Moscow Ballet's Great Russian Nutcracker. At six years old it was unexpected to even be given a role in the ensemble, but as Papa would say, "Kozlov's must always expect the unexpected and embrace the unknown." The unknown would become life without my mama. As she was rushing to get me home a speeding car came towards us. I can remember nothing after she pushed me into an alleyway, not her last words, not how I turned and ran back to our home. I only remember my father waiting at the bottom of the steps of our once warm home and holding me as I cried. I blamed myself for distracting her and not moving fast enough but I was still very young, I could not understand. Papa did though, he would always say it was his fault, that he knows what really happened.

I thought the worst had passed, I lost my mama and by extent my papa as he threw himself into his work. The government paid for a caretaker that would always be present when my papa could not be home or take me to my lessons. Opening night of the ballet passed with my father not able to attend as he had important business for the government. I knew something was happening that was causing a stir in his department but at the time I only cared that he was spending time away from me. Papa tried to make up for it as much as he could. I would still find a single rose on my nightstand after every performance. I understood his duty to our country and tried not to complain. Around mid-December, we had a special dinner at our favorite restaurant for my birthday. I could not have been more excited to spend time with Papa and I told him that this was the only gift I needed. However, papa gifted me with a beautiful necklace that belonged to my mother long before she passed away. It was a beautiful gold chain with a singular small diamond nestled in the middle. It was the nicest piece of jewelry papa could give my mother when they first started to date. Papa told me to always think of my mother when I wore the precious gem so that I would remember her strength and her love. I insisted on wearing the necklace every day, rarely being persuaded to remove it. After my birthday, papa was surprisingly around more even coming to a performance of The Nutcracker! He would tell me things were going to be better know, he knew of changes coming that would help our tiny family.

The last performance of The Great Russian Nutcracker came on Christmas Eve and papa took the place of my caretaker attending the performance and even walking me home, so we could spend more time together. Falling snow as pure as cotton covered our tracks as we slowly made our way home. I would giggle every time a strong gust of wind would lift my brown curls under my miniature fur hat. Papa would laugh with me and rest his hand on the top of my head. That was the happiest I had been in months and it is also the last moment of happiness I had for years. In the next ten minutes my whole world was crushed.

Men dressed in black from head to toe surrounded us in the already vacant roadway. Papa pulled me closer, his grip bruising. One of the men behind us grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Papa as we were forced into an alleyway. I remember one of the men telling papa he knew better than to fight what was coming especially with his little girl here. I had been confused and frightened more than ever before. This was different than what had happened with my mother, I could not look away and I could not forget. I could barely hear over the sound of my pitiful cries, but they were shouting questions at Papa after they forced him to his knees and began beating him when he did not answer the way they liked. I kept struggling and whimpering as the grip on my arm tightened pulling me almost off the ground. Suddenly, a large man came behind Papa with some type of cord. He defiantly looked up at his tormentors and told them their efforts would be going to waste the Soviet Union had already fallen. His last words to them were, "the documents have been liberated." I could not take my eyes off my Papa the whole time he spoke. When he finally looked at me he said, "Be strong, my prima ballerina. Never forget who you are and always know I am so very sorry." Before he could say any more the man with the cord tightened it around his neck. As he drew his last breaths my screams blended into the howling wind.

As if a pack of dogs the men turned to look at me once my father's body hit the cold concrete. I could not help flinching away as the man that asked my father questions reached out to grab my chin. I can still recall the stench of his last cigarette on his breath and the drying blood on his hands. He would make disapproving sounds as he examined my tear streaked face. By this point I was hyperventilating, making my vision blurry and my senses dulled. He mentioned something about having no loose ends before staring me straight in the eyes and asking if I would like to live. I could only nod as I was shaking so hard, still in the man's grasp. He promised me that if I chose to not speak of this I could keep my life and he would take me to an institution where I would be able to continue my ballet. He worded it as if he was asking what I would have liked for Christmas. With my eyes cast down to the frigid ground, I wordlessly nodded afraid of being attacked as my father had been.

I was once again grabbed by my upper arm and shoved into the back of a waiting car without the chance to cast one more glance at the form of my father. Within several hours I was being dropped off in front of a large building with the morning sun rising slowly in the back. A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back tight and professional garb stood at the top of the stairs leading into the building. I was roughly pulled out of the car and then prompted to go up the stairs while the man who brought me stayed at the bottom. As I walked up the stairs I felt the woman's predatory gaze as her eyes followed each of my hesitant steps. Once I reached the final step and my small frame was standing in front of her she spoke. "You are an aspiring ballerina, yes? Here you will refine your skills and learn more than you could have ever dreamed. From now on your name will be Mila and you will never refer to yourself by your previous name again. Forget your name. Forget where you came from. Your real purpose in life begins now."

I could do nothing. I just stood there and accepted everything this woman told me because I was afraid of choosing death. Would it have been better to join my mother and father? That is when I realized that _this_ was the cruelest joke the world has to offer. You thought I was free to make the choice? That I chose to become a monster? No, the joke was that I never had a choice at all.

"Welcome to the Red Room."


	2. Chapter 1

The rhythmic tapping of shoes striding down the hallway was enough to grab anyone's attention in the normally quiet sector of the Avenger's complex. Normally, a second glance would not have been spared to the offender however the red-haired woman causing such a disturbance warranted more than a passing glance. Stares were never something that bothered her though, in fact she rather liked them as they could tell you a lot about a person. People stared when they were attracted, when they were curious, and of course when they were envious. Being the subject of a person's stare was a powerful feeling, one that demonstrated a purpose, as there was always a reason for such attention in Natasha's dealings.

After the self-implosion of S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha traveled to upstate New York where the Avenger's compound was located. She continued to take on any mission, both on and off the record, while assisting in the training of new recruits. It was a year after the opening of the compound that she realized this was the closest she had come to placing roots in her whole life. Sure, she was always told she was welcomed at Clint and Laura's farm but that could never be her home. The idea of an actual home was nostalgic, something Natasha knew would remain a dream of the past. Instead, she currently resided in the compound stark built where she was closely located to the new division created for the decryption of the documents which she herself leaked.

It took the fall of an empire like S.H.I.E.L.D. to make her realize the pressure put upon her and the others would only become worse. Sooner or later the government types would start questioning if the Avengers were well enough under control. With Fury for all intents and purposes dead, there was no advocate for the Avenger's initiative and no one to ensure the independence of their work. Natasha was no fool and knew that Fury remained in contact with former agent Maria Hill, who now officially worked for Stark heading the decryption division. For these two reasons Natasha was willing to complete her latest mission early in order to return for an immediate briefing at Hill's insistence.

"Romanoff," Hill greeted from the doorway to the glass enclosed conference room. Both women gave each other a mutual nod of respect as she approached. Hill made sure to send a poignant look at one of the men watching Natasha walk down the hallway causing his eyes to quickly return to his work and a blush rise to his cheeks.

"It's the leather pants." Hill commented as she followed Natasha inside the room.

"Keep telling yourself that's all it is," Natasha replied with a smirk. "Am I late?"

"Right on time," answered a male voice laced with just the right amount of authority. Looking towards the far end of the table Natasha saw the one and only Captain America.

Steve Rogers was never a challenge to read. He could be so utterly transparent and predictable in his beliefs it was sickening. For some reason Natasha almost envied him as he possessed the qualities that she was never allowed to. Combine that with his loyalty and she found herself growing to respect the man even more. Cap was a good teacher, a great leader and an even better friend to the few who were fortunate enough. Overall, he was a good catch and she couldn't believe he was still single. For God's sake the man actually stood and went to pull out her chair when she walked into the room.

"Good to see you, Nat. How was the mission?"

"Same old undercover routine. Fancy party, low cut dress, a little interrogation, eliminated the threat. Just a regular Friday night, I'm sure you know what it's like."

"Can't say I'm familiar with the dresses or flirting with bad guys," said Steve in an attempt to joke.

"Where's the sidekick?"

Before Steve could answer Sam Wilson came strolling in the room taking a seat on the other side of Cap. "Now you know that I always like to walk behind you," he said with smirk at Natasha before leaning closer to Steve in order to whisper. "Man, I told you people were gonna call me your sidekick."

"Come on Sam, no one thinks you're a sidekick. Nat's just joking," Steve said while shooting Natasha a warning look. She only shrugged with a smile in response.

"Can we begin now," Hill asked as she stood at the opposite end of the table. She threw three copies of a file on the table for each of them. On the front was a grainy photograph taken of a man exiting what appeared to be a bank. The man was surrounded by blurs of others who were most likely bodyguards.

"This is Andri Domitrovich from the Ukraine. For the past two months he has been residing in Kursk outside of Moscow. Information was passed onto us from one of Agent Romanoff's former contacts that he withdrew ten billion Ruble two days ago. While this is not something we would usually be concerned with, his new associates pose quite a threat. Domitrovich has a reported history of juvenile delinquency including multiple arrests, public intoxication and indecent exposure."

"Sounds like someone Stark would get along with," commented Natalia. While she got a smile from Sam and a small quirk of the lips from Steve, Hill was not amused at being interrupted.

"It's his gambling problem however that has him in trouble with the wrong people. His debts came calling and he owed some favors. We believe an underground organization working on behalf of the government is pulling the strings on this one and what they want are the nuclear codes for all of Eastern Europe. The codes are stored on a flash drive after being leaked from the Romanian Embassy. The contact reported that the black-market sale will be held in a week's time. Dimitrovich is their front man and potential scape goat, they get the codes and he will repay his debt by funding the entire purchase. We need this information intercepted or else we could be facing a nuclear war with one of the world's superpowers."

"So, you want me to fly in and intercept him during the transfer of the codes?"

"Maybe offer him asylum in exchange for his cooperation," questioned Steve.

"Not quite, gentlemen." Hill threw one more file on the table, this time only to Natasha.

"There's more to this mission than what is allowed to be documented. I brought you and Wilson in on this because I want you to two to track down a certain missing solider whom I believe we are all well acquainted with." She gave Cap a look with a raised eyebrow showing her disapproval for Barnes not being here already.

"We can try but he said he's not coming back till he feels ready to. It's important for him to get this out of his system and I respect that. I want him back here more than anyone, but I want the real Buck. Last time we crossed paths he said he would be ready to come home soon," said Steve with his arms crossed.

Sam rolled his eyes and grumbled, "…. he can take his time." Steve shot him a reproachful look and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, Hill cleared her throat.

"Just try to locate him and update him on the situation. There is more to this underground network than you can imagine right now, and he may have some knowledge from his time spent with the Soviets." Begrudgingly Steve nodded before casting his gaze to Natasha.

"Are you flying solo on this," he questioned.

"Agent Romanoff is too well known around these parts for this type of mission. We need her on this end to receive intelligence on the sale. That is why we want to bring in someone else. Someone who is not on our books and who knows the kind of people we are dealing with. I believe you may be familiar, Romanoff."

Uncrossing her arms and sitting upright in her seat Natasha reached out to open the new file. Cap came to stand behind her and read over her shoulder. His eyes skimmed over the page looking at the minimal information there that was not redacted. Putting one hand down on the table so he could lean in for a closer look, Steve saw Nat's eyes darting back and forth across the page. There was only two pages in the file, thin by anyone's standards. Whoever this person was he sure knew how to stay off the grid. As Natasha flipped to the second page a picture was made visible which only confused Steve more.

At the top left-hand corner was a picture of a young women with her blonde hair pulled back tight underneath a military cap. In the picture the women stood tall with her hands clasped behind her back and no emotion visible on her face. The military uniform she was wearing looked to be in pristine order just as he supposed she was to present herself. _Obviously Russian, based on the style of uniform_ , Steve thought. _She probably has a connection to Natasha, perhaps she could be the informant?_ One look at Natasha confirmed his suspicion as he saw her features harden and she closed the file looking nonchalant.

"Your information is wrong. She has been dead for years," Nat said catching Sam's attention as well.

"Who?"

"No, she is not dead," said Hill shaking her head. Sliding one more document down the table in front of them. "Far from it, actually. I have to admit she's good, we never would have caught her if it wasn't for the news broadcast in Washington. We think she tried to find you after she saw your interview on Capitol Hill. Those released documents held information that could be leverage for anyone."

The picture now facing the three of them showed what appeared to be the same woman from the previous file. In this picture she did not stand proud but blended into the crowd of spectators. She also had a very different appearance with her slightly tanned skin and brown hair. The three of them stared at the photo before Natasha suddenly stood up already making her way around the table.

"Where is she?"

"In the city. The address was already sent to your phone," replied Hill. Natasha was out the door before Hill could even finish.

Sam finally grabbed the photo getting a good look before letting out an annoyed sigh. "Why do we have to track down tall, dark, and brooding and she gets the hot foreign chick?"

"That's twenty-five hundred, Weasel."

A gold card was held between two long bony fingers waiting to be taken by the so appropriately named bartender. The card holder sat perched at the very front of the barstool leaning part way over the bar top. Her dark jeans and leather jacket allowed her to blend in with the usual crowd despite the fact that she was one of very few women not dressed in a corset and heels. Sliding her sunglasses up to act as a head band she eyed the grungy looking man behind the bar. Weasel set down the pint glass he was drying to grab the card from the brunet's grasp.

"That's three already this week, Sasha. Leave some clients for the boys." He leaned around the bar post to the secondary register that wasn't for bar tabs. As he returned Sasha could see him thumbing through her earned pay. "… four hundred, and five hundred. I know you've been pretty busy lately taking one job right after another. You know if you ever need a break or have a free night…"

"Shut up and give it to me," she sighed while grabbing the money. Pocketing her pay she turned away from the bar and the idiot behind it.

There was a gasp as someone walked up to the bar next to her. "You stole my line." Wade Wilson was the type of person you wanted to punch in the face, until he opened his mouth. Then you wanted to shoot him. Sasha ignored his comment only responding with a roll of her eyes. "Still playing the shy card, eh? You know you attract more flies with honey," Wade said with an exaggerated wink.

Weasel placed Sasha's usual drink of a double shot of vodka on the bar before smiling at Wade. "What do you want, Wade?"

"I'll take what the lady has but put an umbrella in it," he said with a smirk in her direction. He turned around to face the majority of the bar as well.

Since Sasha had shown up at Sister Mary's, Wade has taken a liking to the woman of very few words. She seemed to be his opposite in most ways, such as her blunt way of talking with the least amount of actual interaction possible. Personally, Wade enjoyed his own sarcastic nature and liked to hear himself talk as much as possible. At least that's what everyone else thought. Without looking at her Wade asked if she was picking up or dropping off.

"Dropping off, for now. I've got a fight this weekend so no time." Sasha glanced at Wade from the corner of her eye. He was one of the very few that knew her second income came from a fighting ring. It's not like she wanted to be a mercenary who had a part time fighting career. At least she felt like she was doing some good by picking her targets and choosing only those that deserved it. The fighting though, that was for stress relief and cash. Neither of these jobs asked for identification which made them more appealing. The types of people that were involved in these acts minded their own business as long as you minded yours.

Wade knocked back his drink before nodding at her in acknowledgment. Without any more comment on her extracurriculars Wade reached around the counter and pulled a bottle of Whiskey out. He began to twirl a pink and blue drink umbrella between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm doing a bit of freelance work myself for some extra cash. I tried striping but the glue on the pasties kept chafing my nipples. You know what I mean, Burt," he said pointing the umbrella at an older man sitting at the opposite end of the bar. "I figure instead of bringing joy by showing my goodies I'll try to help out the tormented youth through scaring the shit out of their stalkers."

Sasha raised an eyebrow at that. "I'll take Wade in the deadpool," she said turning in her seat to look at Weasel.

"You're cold as ice, Sweetheart," he said as Sasha allowed him to place the miniature umbrella behind her ear. Wade started backing out of the bar, one hand on the neck of the bottle, the other over his heart.

Sasha just sipped her vodka while eyeing him over the rim until he was out the door with less flourish and animosity then she has seen in a while. Weasel offered to top off her drink before trying to start a conversation.

"I have him in the pool too. He's getting soft."

Wade leaned his head back in the door, "You never have to worry about me getting soft, sugar bear." With a lewd wink directed at some biker wannabe with a leather cut he finally exited the bar.

"You can't take that, Wade," yelled Weasel. "At least pay for it!"

Realizing he was not going to be paid for the bottle of whiskey and he was not going to successfully start a conversation with Sasha, Weasel wondered to the other end of the bar. Sasha tracked his movement even though her eyes appeared to stay focused on the bar back. It was a blessing and a curse that she was trained to continuously be hyper aware of her surroundings. This bar had become her saving grace and while it gave her purpose again it also kept certain habits at the forefront of her personality. She gave a quick sweep of the room mentally naming and cataloging all of its inhabitants. In the past several years she came to know everyone who walks in and out of this mercenary sanctuary as well as their intimate details. She knows who does it for the money, who does it for the bloodlust and who does it because it is the only thing they know. She knows that Kane is currently seeing two waitresses that work different shifts, Mac is living with his pregnant girlfriend while trying to support his child, Tanya is actually Crystal on the weeknights at the gentleman's club on the opposite side of town and "Crow" (whose real name is Dwayne) is actually just as stupid as he seems. These people were good at what they do but not good enough. She actually felt bad for some of them, not enough for it to make a difference, but still she felt and that was an improvement.

She looked at her reflection in the glass cabinet behind the bar. Weasel had pictures and random pieces of paper shoved in every opening, but she could still see her face through the obstructions and grime. _Sasha, almost thirty, no family, works alone, drinks vodka._ That is all these simple people know about her. _My name is not even Sasha and they don't appreciate the work I do,_ she thought bitterly as she took the umbrella out from behind her ear. Finishing off her drink she kept the glass placed to her lips as she thought. She missed the old days when she was someone, when she had a purpose and when that purpose was her reason for carrying on. All of her life, mission after mission has been set before her, whether it be learning a new skill or something a bit more unsavory. _The good old days_ , she thought bitterly. Setting the glass down a bit more forceful then necessary she noticed another face over her shoulder in the blurred reflection. It was a face that she had not seen in person for several years, one she was hoping not to see again. Sasha's eyes narrowed as her back straightened and she prepared to address this unwanted guest. Before she could however, Weasel made a reappearance.

"Sasha, you want anoth-. Oh, never seen you around here before." It was obvious Weasel was concerned about his bar and business being exposed to an outsider. On the other hand, he found this woman maybe even more attractive than Sasha and he wasn't going to let an opportunity go to waste. With a smirk on his face he asked if she wanted a drink.

"I'll take whatever she has and leave the bottle. I want to catch up with my old friend," she said sitting down on a barstool. Sasha could not help but roll her eyes as a glass and full bottle of vodka was placed immediately in front of them. "That's all."

"Beat it, Weasel," Sasha said when he still did not tear his eyes away from her new companion. Once he was a good distance away, she turned to begin what was sure to be a painful reunion with someone she once considered her friend. "What are you doing here, Natalia?"

Pouring herself half a glass of vodka Natasha studied her friends' profile. She looked older as expected but she still held her chin higher than all those around her. _Some things never change,_ thought Natasha as she took her first drink since sitting down. "They call you Sasha?"

"It's better than Natasha Romanoff," Sasha scoffed. "Never would have guessed it was you from your cover name."

A short period of silence followed and when it became too uncomfortable both took another drink. For the first time since seeing her Sasha turned to face Natasha head on, waiting for her to speak.

"I went to your funeral." Natasha poured both of them another drink before Sasha could respond. This entire conversation was about maintaining control and both women were vying for the upper hand.

"That's considerate of you. I'll make sure to return the favor," said Sasha with a fake grin. "As much as I would love to continue our girl talk, I do have other places to be than drinking during work hours. If you will excuse me, Natalia." _I can make it to the Canadian border in several hours and lay low for a couple weeks before heading to Europe._ As Sasha was subtly planning her relocation, she finished her vodka and raised her glass in a mock salute.

"Of course. I was just feeling sentimental after seeing you again. We have so many good memories together like that trip to Dubai or our times in class." Natasha grabbed Sasha's forearm before she could walk away and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Or how about that time when you killed the handler and I took the blame, so you were not punished further then what you had already been. Just one of your secrets I still hold."

Natasha turned back around in her seat and resumed enjoying her drink. Sasha's shoulders minutely stiffened before she pulled her previous barstool even closer to her companions. Her face remained neutral even taking on a slightly pleasant expression as she took her seat. Natasha could tell this was the moment that would decide whether this conversation ended the way she wanted it to or in bloodshed.

Sasha's voice took on her native Russian accent as she stared Natasha straight in the eye before speaking in a venomous tone. "If you think I am going to come running at your beck and call because of some naive sense of loyalty or some twisted notion that "I owe you" then your years of coddling and living in the high tech ivory tower of SHIELD has not only deluded your sense of how this world really works but also the workings of people like us."

As it looked like Natasha was about to speak Sasha quickly cut her off. "Let me remind you of what world you came from and how this conversation is going to proceed. In our world we do not owe favors and you do not attempt to guilt someone like me into your bidding. Guilt or gratitude towards you is not something I have ever felt. You are lucky to still be sitting across from me and not lying on the floor in a pool of your own blood, consider that me showing my gratitude towards you if you deem it a necessity. You may leave now and walk out of here as someone I considered an ally at one point in my life or I will do this government the _favor_ of neutralizing the threat that they seem to think you are still capable of posing." With an eye roll Sasha leaned back and slid her sunglasses back down to rest on her nose.

"I'm not here to collect on that debt actually," said Natasha as if still having a casual conversation with an old friend. "I'm here in this rat-infested bar drinking this poor excuse of vodka to recruit you for an assignment."

Unfortunately, Weasel happened to be walking by and heard what the red headed woman thought of his fine establishment. Feeling defensive he was only able to make a small indignant noise before both women shot glares in his direction. As he loved his bodily health more than his bar, he chose to continue walking and busy himself elsewhere.

"You think I risked life and limb in order to escape that hellhole just to come work for another corrupted government run by overgrown children who want nothing more than to gain power no matter the means? I have lived this mundane life for several years now just so those bastards could not drag me back a slap a collar around my neck again. No thanks, been there done that."

Natasha looked in thought for a moment before realizing what would ensure Sasha's cooperation. "You miss it, don't you?"

"Excuse me?"

She smiled before addressing Sasha. "You miss the old life. Face it, you are so utterly bored here with this pathetic attempt of trying to stay in the game. Run as far as you can, change your name and your hair, but you will still be that same broken doll who only knows what _they_ taught and who only does as she's told. You're still under their thumb, maybe not physically but mentally you are still exactly who they made you. Their grip on you is so tight and you don't even realize it. You're here trying to be some type of merc because it's the closest thing you know that won't blow your cover. What have you been doing lately? Collecting gambling debts? Scaring ex boyfriends? That's not you, you need _purpose_."

Sasha could feel the nerve that Natasha struck with a low blow. Trying to deflect she responded, "And what would you have me do?"

Natasha pulled out the file from inside her jacket and gave Sasha the abbreviated version as she read the packet. "There's a drop happening not to long from now with some information we need. It's a simple infiltrate and recover op but we're looking for some new blood on the foreign missions who is capable of assimilating to the cultures and situations. It's just like that time we were in Prague with-."

"You are actually asking me to go to the epicenter of where my childhood torment took place and risk losing my cover?" Sasha scoffed before throwing the file back at Natasha.

"That's already blown. You know as well as I do that if we found you it's only a matter of time till the next guy comes knocking on your door. You can only run for so long or you can give those bastards what they deserve."

That caught Sasha's attention and Natasha could see her actually showing consideration. "What's in it for me," questioned Sasha.

With a smirk Natalia pushed the papers back towards her and replied, "Full accommodations and a nice deposit in your bank account. Of course, the offer also includes a conditional contract with the underground remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. but I didn't think you would go for that."

"Money and revenge? Guess you didn't forget how things work in this world."

Sasha felt conflicted. Essentially, she knew she would not be able to hide forever and why should she. Revenge is something that she often dreamt about when she first went into hiding to the point where it consumed her days. However, this "agency" or whatever it's known as now was not something Sasha wanted any part of. No, her revenge would be on her own terms. She would not be used and exposed at the whims of others again. It was then that she decided that _Special Agent Natasha Romanoff_ could fuck off. When the time was right, she would take her revenge and make sure she was appropriately compensated for her time served.

Sasha rolled the documents and placed them in an inside pocket of her jacket as she stood. Grabbing the vodka bottle from the bar she turned to leave before leaning down on the other side of Natasha.

"I'll think about it. _Proshchay, Natty_ ," she whispered before raising her chin and stalking towards the door.

"Hey! You can't take the bottle!" Weasel turned to look at Natasha as the door slammed behind Sasha. "You have cash, right?"

Natasha sent a disgusted look at the man before throwing a couple bills on the bar and standing to leave. Weasel counted the bills as she walked towards the exit before calling out.

"Thanks, come again!"


End file.
